


In a World Without Order

by Mask



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Cannibalism, Child Abandonment, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Death Threats, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Poverty, Repression, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mask/pseuds/Mask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Chrollo Lucilfer knew how to survive, but even still, he was just a boy in a lawless world. And sometimes, life had a way of reminding him of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a World Without Order

**Author's Note:**

> For [smuttyhiki](http://smuttyhiki.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.

Chrollo's small fingers wrapped around another can. It wasn't too dirty. It didn't smell half bad. He smiled wide and added it to his backpack. Now if he could find some running water, he'd be set. A drain pipe or even a puddle would be a sufficient enough substitute. He bit down on his lip in excitement, thinking of his finds and the meal he would have later on in the day. Today, he found a few academic books and tattered shirts. He had also come across a fat, dead rat and squashed a couple of bugs for later. So far, he was pretty good today at finding interesting things. He slung his bookbag off his shoulders and set it against his shins. He shoved aside a dirtied mason jar filled with roaches and spiders and put the can between his books and another more dented can.

He needed to find a new jar or a mostly whole cup now. The mason jar he found that was surprisingly clean shattered in his bag on the way here. He wasn't going to clean up the shards, not yet anyway. It could probably come in handy. Either now or later, he wasn't really picky. Chrollo came to his feet and tugged the bookbag on again, his small frame rocking with the motions. Chrollo Lucilfer was eleven years old. His mother had left for a better place, literally, a year ago while his father had left, figuratively, four years ago. At the age of ten, he was both frightened and eager to be on his own, and now, he had gotten the swing of things.

He was a clever boy, resourceful and charming. He was coming to understand the people here fairly well. He knew that he couldn't trust people his own age, sad as it was. They were either smarter than him and therefore more maliciously cunning, or they were more desperate than he was, thus a liability. Some kids had proved his thoughts differently. He found a couple of others he could play with or scavenge with, but they never stayed for long. They headed off to their own venues and visited their own haunts. Chrollo liked it that way. It was a strange kind of reliable.

Chrollo looked around and set out again. He was determined to find some kind of water, but he would have to be quick about it. Other people would take interest in what he was carrying. While he was willing to trade, he wasn't ready to give up much of it. By this age, he had gotten used to the idea of fighting to maintain his inventory. By now, he didn't like it, at least not very much. He knew that there were other ways to get people to leave him alone, and he preferred that. He usually got something. The young boy dug his fingers into the side of a ruined building, climbing up its side until he reached the barely attached stairs. He had been this way before but had never gone upward. Today, he would see what lay above. He came to the top, and his eyes stung at the brightness. The Sun was still hidden light grey clouds, but the sunlight shone furiously regardless. Chrollo's eyes felt it more than his pale skin.

“You get blinded up here,” a soft voice said, accent drawling and voice amused. Chrollo turned towards the honeyed tone and blinked away the pain. There, he saw a wavy haired young adult, holding a can over a fire. Chrollo decided to focus on that.

          “Don't your hands hurt?”

          “Congenital analgesia,” the stranger said, lifting their right hand and turning their fingers. “Haven't felt a thing since I was three years old.” They shrugged slightly. “At least, that's when it kicked in.”

The stranger motioned for Chrollo to come closer, and the young boy did. The young adult turned and offered another can. Chrollo carefully tugged down his sleeves and reached out to hold the item.

          “It's warm,” he stated. For whose benefit, he wasn't sure.

          “I wouldn't burn ya,” the stranger replied, a kind smile setting on their face.

          “Not on purpose.” Chrollo returned the smile and focused on eating the medley of beans.

They were mostly spoiled at this stage, but their fermentation wasn't harsh on his stomach. He caught something chewy and decided that it was delicious. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, holding out the can when the stranger reached for it. He sat quietly and waited. A silence had fallen between them. The fire crackled in the trash can. There was something strange about the flame. Maybe it was its intensity or the smell of rubber – he wasn't sure. He scrunched his nose and wiggled his lips, trying to chase away the smell. The stranger turned back, armed with a kind smile and a knife. Chrollo knew the routine and immediately pulled out his backpack.

          “Got anything good?” they asked lazily, watching his hands for anything suspicious.

          “Just this.” Chrollo pulled out the broken glass jar and held it in his palm.

He kept the bottom of the glass in the center of his hand; its jagged edges were aimed upward. Chrollo kept his fingers relaxed, but the way he cupped the fragment kept the young adult on guard. They laughed and lowered their hands between their legs.

          “Got anything else?”

          “Let's see!”

Chrollo's youthful voice cleared the air. He managed to trade the broken jar for some barely opened cans of food. He lost a possible weapon but figured he could make up for it later. Thinking on it, the jar had cracked in the most perfect of ways. He felt a little remorse. Chrollo thudded down the stairway and hung from its edge. He dropped to the bottom and almost lost his footing. It wouldn't be good; with the way his items dug against his back, he just figured it would hurt something fierce if he went down.

Chrollo went back on his journey, following every tiny, dirty puddle in hopes of finding something bigger. The eleven-year-old heard the tell-tale giggle of children and went another way. It was easier to talk down adults, but with someone his own age, he would have to play along. He would have… some other time. Right now, he just wanted to cinch some things up and head on home. He looked around and passed by an alleyway, jostling the weight on his back as he held tightly onto the straps. Hurried footsteps came behind him, and he had to look over his shoulder. Another almost-adult, younger looking than the last, but the smile was so bright, so genuine. Chrollo stopped walking for a moment.

          “Hey, kid! Where ya headin'?”

          “Don't know,” Chrollo admitted. “Just kinda looking around.”

          “Cool. H-hey. Wanna trade something? A-all I got is information, so I'll take anything cheap.”

Chrollo gave them a once over, taking in the gangly form and the long length of their hair. He nodded, and they smiled, thrusting their elbows back with hands clenched in success.

          “Alright. I just found a whole bunch of junk on that east side. There's a dilapidated warehouse full of stuff!” They smiled and opened out their hands. “What's that worth to ya?”

          Chrollo thought for a moment and decided to come up with a different offer. “Do you know where I can find some kinda water?”

          “Water? Water! Shit!” The scavenger turned towards their left and pointed down a brightly lit lane. “Back down that way and under that hill.” They scrunched up their nose. “Kinda janky though. Wouldn't trust it.”

          Chrollo laughed gently. “I'll take it.” And with that, he pulled off his bookbag.

He decided to be nice and give them something worthwhile. He took out one of the cans of food he had received and held it out to the informative scavenger. The older person blinked and took the food with both hands.

          “Shit, kid! This is really nice. Don't you need it?”

          Chrollo shook his head. “I'll be fine now.”

          “Hell, I'll come with ya. It's just this way.”

Chrollo nodded his head and followed along. He paused for a moment when he found a baby's bottle with another cap screwed onto it. It didn't have any cracks that he could see, and outside of being dusty it was perfect. He picked it up and hurried after his new companion. The water was an ugly kind of green-brown with a suspicious film on it. He sniffed it, and it smelled… like something. It wasn't terrible, just like really dank water. He filled up the baby bottle and a couple of his empty cans, having to readjust them in the outer pockets to make sure they didn't wet the books. He shoved down their open lids, careful to not cut himself on the metal. The scavenger kept him company and the two walked around the water's edge, trying to find more things to pick up. Chrollo found a few containers. He cleaned them up in the water and promised himself to hold onto these until later when he returned home. He and his companion came up on the other side. The informant pointed out a way for Chrollo to get back where he needed to be, and on that good note, they split up.

The screaming was what made him turn around. It was too immediate. It was too scared, too loud. Murder, muggings, and worse weren't strange ideals in Meteor City, but this just felt wrong. The screaming turned Chrollo's stomach to ice, and he turned back, bag heavy against his form as he whipped around. He dove between half standing and lopsided fencing before crashing into a barbed gate. He carefully pulled the gate back so not to make as much noise. (Would somebody hear him anyway over the bloodcurdling screams? Could someone make out the gentle rattling of the fence? He didn't want to know.)

As he passed underneath the tilted fencing, the chain link caught his arm. It scratched deep enough to bleed. He rubbed his arm idly and hastily trotted towards the noise. He finally neared the voices. Laughter had been buried under helplessness, and he couldn't hear it until he was at this point. The small boy tipped his head, spied around the corner, and hated what he saw.

His eyes widened, and his voice failed him. That was probably best. He didn't want to draw any attention to his location. He shouldn't have been here. He should have been like so many of the other people that lived here and minded his own business. But it was too late now. Wishing that he stayed away wouldn't erase the fiendish murder before him. Chrollo curled a hand around the corner of the grimy brick wall, unable to tear his eyes from the scene.

The scavenger he had directed this way was being torn apart, almost completely literally. Long hair splayed over their face, matted down by blood and, Chrollo could only assume, tears. Their right arm was broken at an awkward angle. The bone pressed up against the flesh, threatening to break loose though it never did. Their right arm was patchy with missing flesh while their left had knives dug into its meat. Whole chunks of muscle had been ripped off and exposed the bone underneath. Their clothes had been haphazardly ripped open. Their shirt exposed most of their breastbone and the curve of their neck. Their trousers had been cut here and there. The rips were imperfect as if made wider by hand. Someone with wild curly hair was bent down on one knee, holding the poor scavenger's legs on broad shoulders. A shoe was missing. Toes had been removed; the biggest one was bent. The sole of the victim's foot was burnt.

The scavenger whimpered, crying for mercy and to be released. They yelped as the kneeling cannibal bit into their thigh. Chrollo felt the unease set in. It chopped up the ice and revealed the nausea that had been hidden underneath. He backed away, needing to vacate the area _immediately_. He mouthed his 'sorry's, felt the heat of tears prickling his eyes, but he started moving. He kicked up a few rocks as he spun on his heel and raced away. His hands shook almost violently as he set the gate back into place. He looked up to make sure no one had heard him, but he saw one of the cannibals staring at him. This person was new. Chrollo hadn't seen them with the others. Where had they been — had they been watching? Had they been watching Chrollo and just decided to linger behind? The young boy faltered, but at the mouthed words _“Peeping Tom”,_ he decided to run.

The contents of his bag dug into his back with every hurried step he took. The air burned in his throat as he gasped down a breath. He pushed past people walking their own path and almost burst into hysterics when someone gripped his arm. The woman was just giving him grief, trying to hassle him, and logically, he knew this. Every other day, he would have smiled and tried to charm his way out of it – maybe even offer a trade – but today, he shoved at the fingers on his bicep. Ultimately, she let him go with a shove and a cackle. Chrollo instantly gained his stride and stumbled away from the scene. He headed back into the crater den, climbing down the poorly made houses until he found his own.

His small chest heaved as he stared into the cluttered nest he called his home. The tattered sheet he used as a door was still as he left it, pushed away and exposing the rundown interior. He stepped down into his home; the familiar crunch of compacted trash relaxed him immediately. He pulled off his backpack and let it rest at his feet. He took a step back up the stairs and reached up, freeing the sheet from its position. It fell back over the entryway. The holes in its surface usually didn't provide much in the way of privacy or protection. Today, Chrollo felt like he was in an armoured fortress.

He tugged up his bookbag, holding it in both hands as he went deeper into his nest. He unpacked his finds, setting the food on rusted racks and lopsided paper stacks. Anything he planned on using or eating he left near his ratty cot, which he soon sat himself upon. He stared blankly at the floor, spying the rare patches of concrete that was structured underneath his home. The events played again in his mind in quick flashes and loud noises. Chrollo felt his bottom lip quiver. He had no attachment to the victim in question, but still. Still… He pulled his legs up and balanced his heels on the edge of the bed. Chrollo rocked himself into calmness and was proud when he didn't cry. When he uncurled himself some fifteen minutes later, he was able to carry along with his day, even though the mental images could never be unseen.


End file.
